Ever feel like you’re in Dr. Seuss’s book, Oh the Places You’ll Go… but not exactly on the last page where things finally come together?
Somehow I think we’re all a little more familiar with the “slump” page, the “alone” page, and especially the “waiting” page.
My dear fourteen-year-old special-needs son was on the waiting page last week.
Upon starting his new school (which is amazing) on Monday, we were informed that bus service would begin Friday.
Due to Jaden’s obsession with buses (think bus = Disneyworld), it was a long week.
Thursday was spent informing every friend, foe, and stranger — ten times each — that Jaden would be riding a bus the next morning. Those discussions, of course, were followed by countless fist pounds — Jaden’s favorite expression of celebration.
We greeted Friday morning with joy and relief, rushing through morning preparations in order to be on time at the rendezvous point.
Jaden high-fived, fist-pounded, giggled with anticipation, and kept an eagle-eye on every vehicle entering the neighborhood. Even Jaden’s ears were on high alert. They perked up at the rumble of every bus engine within a one-mile radius.
Ten minutes passed and though no bus had appeared, spirits were still high. Jaden continued to pace and chat excitedly.
Twenty minutes passed and my patient (slightly more sober) son continued to keep watch.
Thirty minutes later a little reassurance from mom was necessary. “It’ll come, it’ll come… but maybe I should call the school to make sure.”
After forty-five minutes, both Jaden and I slumped onto the curb, not at all sure the bus dream would come true today.
There had been a glitch. Obviously. Another call confirmed the bus would not be coming that morning. So I drove him to school… where apologies abounded!
My boy had my sympathy. The truth was, I knew all too well how he felt. How often I’ve waited, full of hopes and dreams, only to crumple in disappointment when expectations weren’t met on my time table.
I wish I could say I’ve always responded with the same grace he showed that morning. I fully expected some kind of angry outburst; but, upon delivering him to school and being assured that he would have a bus ride home that afternoon, I saw sunshine and faith return.
We all take our turns in the waiting room (or at the bus stop) though, don’t we?
Waiting for a train to go
Or a bus to come, or a plane to go
Or the mail to come, or the rain to go
Or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
Or waiting around for a Yes or No
Or waiting for their hair to grow.
Sure, sometimes waiting is about procrastination, fear, or laziness. And maybe that’s what Dr. Seuss is talking about above in Oh the Places You’ll Go. But sometimes, it’s just a huge, necessary part of life, whether we like it or not.
In fact, I’m finding that God’s work is best done in the waiting period. It’s in that awful in-between place that we are the most desperate for Him.
I am so tempted to slump on the curb or throw a tantrum when the bus doesn’t show up. I did quite a bit of that as Jarod and I waited nine years for an answer to prayer. I’ve done far too much of that even after seeing how very trustworthy my God is.
And so the lessons continue. I will wait for the bus again. I’ll be unsure, helpless, and in suspense. But that’s not at all bad for me.
Not if I hand it all over to Him again.
Not when I remember that there are no glitches with God.
He won’t leave me at the bus stop one minute longer than He wants me there.